Harnessed Passions (23 page)

In a way she felt angry with her mother for
not explaining more about the facts of life to her, yet in a deeper
aspect, she felt thankful that all of this was so new to her.
Daniel, she knew, would make an excellent instructor in the
subject; the only problem was she still wasn’t sure if she wanted
to be that close to him. Her heart was still set on returning to
Boston, though the images of her past life were fading away with
time. She knew in her heart even before her father died, she would
likely not see Boston again. But she also knew, if she didn’t put
some sort of distance between herself and her new husband, she was
sure to go completely mad by the month’s end.

As the carriage wheels crunched across the
macadam road, Julia glanced up. She knew from the sound beneath the
horse’s hooves exactly where they were. She told the stable hand
driving the single horse drawn carriage to pull over, as she looked
about the tall trees.

Julia didn’t wait for the driver to offer
her assistance down from the seat, but quietly climbed out alone,
looking solemnly at the view before her. The air was filled with
the soft scent of roses while the birds above tweeted and chirped
their greetings.

The large gates surrounding the burial
grounds had been pulled open, much as they always were during the
day to allow for visitors to pay respects to those who had departed
this life. Lime and marble headstones lined the many rows of the
cemetery lawn; some faded horribly from years of weather and
neglect, others new and gleaming in the daylight. Louise frowned at
her daughter's actions as she forced the tears to remain in check.
She didn't want to stop here - not yet at least, not this soon.

“
Julia honey we've only got
a few hours," she pleaded. "Why don't we stop here on the way
home?" Louise tried to reason with her daughter, hoping they would
be so exhausted from their escapade of shopping that the younger
woman would have forgotten her desire to stop again.

"I'll be right back, mother. Just stay
here." Julia walked through the tall rod iron gate surrounding the
grounds and into the quiet graveyard beyond. She bent down as she
proceeded, gathering a handful of wild daisies that grew beside the
path’s edge. She glanced up the rows of headstones as she continued
down the walkway. The headstones were lined up like small granite
soldiers marching off to war. Many were fairly recent, since this
was the newer section of the cemetery. Most were buried here within
the past ten years.

One section held several markers with the
names of young women; most who were recent mothers, having died in
or shortly after childbirth. Mrs. Simmons, Julia’s third grade
teacher was there with her husband and ten year-old daughter, all
having perished of small pox just after she had moved to Boston.
Mr. Collard was there too; he had been the town’s blacksmith for
over forty years and had passed away three years ago. Julia
remembered hearing about that in one of her mother’s letters. He
never married, but left his business to his younger brother, who
failed miserably in his stead and finally closed shop and moved
back to Nebraska.

Names of immigrants and farmers mingled
among the rows of soldiers and politicians. There were a number of
children as well, their tiny headstones marked with dates revealing
their short stay on this planet. Most of the tombstones that lined
the path she walked were of young men who had lost their lives in
the war. A few Julia recognized as former schoolmates, having
fought and died for their beliefs.

What a strange name, Julia thought as she
continued to make her way down the rows of graves. Civil War; there
was never anything 'Civil' about that war. Death and destruction,
all over vanity and greed and the price to pay was lying next to
her, six feet beneath the earth. So much lost and so little
gained.

Julia stopped briefly in
front of the newest of all of the graves. Her father's headstone
had just been set into place and it gleamed in the sunlight.
Victor Timothy Turner. Born 5 July 1835, died 19
September 1881. Beloved Husband And Father. Rest In Peace.
The inscription caused a frown to form across her
delicate brow. Julia wished it said more, but it was her father who
had ordered the stone; it was his words, not hers.

She drew a deep breath, wanting to say
something to her father’s grave to ease the empty feeling raking
her insides, but she was consumed with so much anger over the
conditions of his will, that she couldn't think of anything kind to
say. She wanted to curse him for what he had done to her, for the
way he had condemned her to a man she barely knew, but she couldn't
find the strength. Instead she turned silently and continued down
the row of headstones.

Heather Farnsworth, Born 18
June 1857, Died 7 August 1873.
The stone
was white marble and etched with the saying,
Beloved Daughter And Sister. We Will Miss You
Always
. Julia knelt down, laying the bunch
of daisies she had gathered next to the marker. Tears stung her
eyes and she sniffed anxiously to avoid spilling them.

"I need you Heather," she whispered gently.
This time the tears wouldn't stop; they fell to her cheeks and slid
down her throat soaking into the collar of her silk blouse. She
shouldn't have stopped here; she knew it and she scolded herself
verbally for her foolishness as she wiped the moisture from her
cheeks. Heather was gone and there was nothing she could do to
bring her back. It was best she just forgot the past and
concentrate on the present, but it was difficult. Her friend had
been in the forefront of her mind since she arrived here; she had
to see the tombstone and to talk with her, though she knew it was
pointless. Heather would never hear her again, never offer her
condolence and never laugh or dream with her as they once had.

Julia stood, trying to pull herself under
control. Seeing this grave was much harder than she had anticipated
and memories of that fateful day flooded back to the surface. She
could still hear herself screaming; still see the bloated,
disfigured face of her best friend as she floated in the murky
water of the swimming hole. A cool breeze blew past her face, and
Julia realized she was still crying. The tears were cold as ice on
her warm cheeks and she once again brushed them away.

With a sigh of distress and sorrow, she
turned to leave, noticing a woman walking down the path toward her.
Her dark dress and veil looked familiar, but after seeing so much
black over the last weeks she didn't pay it much notice. The woman
stopped a few inches in front of Julia and looked down at the grave
she stood beside. She laid a single rose to the grass next to the
daisies and lifted her veil. Her dark brown eyes, high cheekbones
and thin lips looked hauntingly familiar, but it was her voice that
made Julia's eyes widen and her pulse race.

"How are you Julia?" the woman asked and for
a brief moment, she thought she'd seen a ghost. Heather? It
couldn't be, Heather was dead, but then who...

"Sharon," she whispered, remembering the
cruel young girl from so many years ago.

"I wasn't sure whether you would remember me
or not. It's been a long time." Julia stared at the woman, blinking
her disbelief. The resemblance was uncanny, she felt as though she
was looking into Heather's eyes, instead of her younger
sister's.

"What are you doing here?" Julia asked,
pulling her voice back under control, though weakly at first.

"I'm living here. Father still owns the
property next to yours, so I've decided to take it over. It's
pretty run down, but with a little work I can return it to a
livable home again."

"It was you the day of my father's funeral,
wasn’t it?" Julia remembered where she had seen the woman just
recently. “Here, when we buried him. I thought I recognized you,
but I wasn’t certain.” Not entirely a lie, she assured herself.

"I didn't know about your father, I'm sorry.
I'd just arrived in Kentucky and wanted to visit Heather before I
unpacked."

"Why didn't you say something? You would
have been welcome to come back to the ranch with us?"

"I didn't want to intrude. Besides, I wasn't
sure you'd want me there. After all, I'm the one who blamed you for
my sister's death." Julia lowered her eyes. Julia had always felt
Heather’s death was partly her fault. If she had been there as
promised, there would not have been any accident; she wouldn’t have
fallen and hit her head; she wouldn’t have fallen and drowned in
her grandfather’s pond. Perhaps that was why she could never put
her friend completely out of her mind.

"I don’t believe that anymore,” the girl was
saying, causing Julia to pull herself out of the dreadful past. "I
admit I was angry and I did blame you at first, but I know it was
an accident and nobody could have prevented what happened. But
enough of all that. Tell me, how are you enjoying married
life?"

"How did you know I was married?" Julia
frowned at the woman's cleverness in changing subjects so
quickly.

"Actually, I came to say hello just as you
were tossing your bouquet. I seem to have intercepted it from some
little redhead. I hope you don't mind?"

"Of course not, but I wish you would have
told me you were there. I would have loved to have had the chance
to talk with you."

"That's quite alright dear. I'm here for
good now and I'll stop by and visit one day soon. But I am curious,
who was that very attractive young man who caught your garter?"

"I'm afraid I didn't see him," she answered
with a blush.

"Oh that's right,” she laughed softly. “Your
husband was a little too anxious to get you upstairs. Not that I
blame him. He is quite the catch, isn't he?" Julia cleared her
throat and began walking toward the waiting carriage. A friend she
may be in need of, but Sharon Farnsworth would not be it. She was
no substitute for her lost sister.

"You haven't mentioned your parents. How are
they?" Julia asked, when the other woman fell into step beside
her.

"Oh fine, I suppose. I haven't really spent
much time with them since I went off to college. You know, we grow
up and interests change, they got older and I got more involved
with other things." The two continued to talk, making light
conversation until they reached Julia's carriage. Sharon greeted
Louise with a forced smile before turning back to Julia.

"Can we offer you a ride?" Julia asked,
staring into Sharon's brown eyes. They were as clear as glass and
as cold as stone. They almost appeared to belong to a statue rather
than a living person.

"No thank you, I have my carriage waiting
for me, but I do hope to see you again soon. Maybe I’ll stop by the
stables and you can introduce me to that handsome husband of
yours."

"Of course,” Julia smiled, though a strange
surge of jealousy began to boil in the pit of her stomach. “You're
welcome to stop by for tea if you'd like?"

"I'll do that; until then good-bye Julia,
Mrs. Turner." The woman walked off back toward the graves with the
grace of a stalking panther. Julia couldn't put her finger on it,
but there was something very unsettling about that woman. She just
didn't appear to be the sort of person who would be interested in
sharing tea with the one person she had so blatantly accused of
killing her sister. Perhaps it was just the shock of seeing her
again that made Julia so nervous; whatever it was, a tiny quiet
voice inside her head warned her to stay on guard.

"Why did you do that?" Louise questioned
shifting in the seat to make room for her daughter as she continued
to watch the darkly dressed woman's departure.

"Do what Mother?" Julia adjusted her skirt
across her lap, consumed at the moment with her own thoughts.

"Invite that bitch out to the ranch? I
remember how she blamed you for poor Heather's death. How could you
just pretend nothing's happened?"

"Mother, please," Julia insisted, nodding to
the driver to leave. "That was a long time ago. She's grown up
since then and she's our neighbor again, I can't very well ignore
her. I owe it to Heather to be polite. Besides, aren’t you the one
who is always insisting on keeping up the social graces? It would
be rude to ignore her, living as close as we do."

"Well, I'm telling you she's not to be
trusted. That one never was. She would have screwed her own brother
if there was a dollar in it for her."

"Mother!"

"Oh, don't look so shocked. Everyone knew
the sort of girl she was. And don't try and tell me she's changed,
because I know better. That tramp would just as soon turn her
parents’ old home into a brothel, as she would sell her soul to the
highest bidder."

"I know what kind of girl Sharon used to be,
but I’m sure that’s all behind her now. She’s a well-educated woman
and she seems sincere. Look, mother, let's not think about the past
today, alright? I have the urge to shop and spend an ungodly amount
of money on loads of frivolous things I will never wear, and I
don't want to think about anything else except Daniel’s reaction
when he gets the bills."

The women agreed to try and have a good day
and not allow the ghosts from the past to haunt them, even though
Julia had a feeling deep down that her mother had been right about
their neighbor. They wanted to pretend everything was fine and
normal, even though she knew better. Maybe it was the unemotional
look in the woman’s eyes that made her blood run cold, or maybe it
was the way she just seemed to appear from out of the shadows.

If only she could shake off these feelings
clawing at her back, but right now she felt as though a weight the
size of all Kentucky had just fallen down on her shoulders and
there was no possible way of disposing herself of it.